


fall, rise, repeat.

by jedikhaleesi



Series: when to ignite the spark [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ABSOLUTELY NOT ROMANTIC, Alternate Universe - Skating, Epistolary, Gen, Major Character Injury, Major time skips, Time Skips, but not from skating, just really good friends, no graphic descriptions of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 23:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17253104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedikhaleesi/pseuds/jedikhaleesi
Summary: The story of Allura and Shiro's illustrious skating career: the ups, the downs, and the end. A journey from 2006 to 2014.





	fall, rise, repeat.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of the figure skating AU that I hold near and dear to my heart! It focuses on my two favorite Voltron characters, Shiro and Allura, whom I cried over in the Season 8 finale. Based on this post: https://crownedallura.tumblr.com/post/181508513023/the-best-pairs-team-in-town

**July 11, 2014. 10:38:23 P.M.**

Normally, Allura is a safe driver. The way she’s driving tonight, however, driver’s ed classes would probably use as an example of what not to do. 

Outside her windshield, the moon looms large over the road. It’s full tonight, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky to obscure its glory. She catches herself admiring it in one careless moment before shaking her head and forcing herself to focus. 

She turns right into the parking lot and pulls into the first empty spot she sees. When she leaps out of her car, she almost scratches the vehicle next to her. The owners, who happen to be walking up at that very moment, glare at her. She shoots them an apologetic smile and rushes toward the building doors. They swish open right as she runs in. In any other circumstance, the feeling would be satisfying. Tonight, she barely even notices it as the fear in her stomach crawls up her throat. 

* * *

**August 31, 2006. 08:57:02 P.M.**

The six-minute warm up period finishes, and the other couples in their group skate towards the boards. They disappear into the depths of the arena, leaving just Shiro and Allura on the ice. Shiro dashes quickly towards the spot where Coach Sanda stands, but Allura lets herself drift over as the last of their opponents steps off the ice.

Coach Iverson reminds them to make their lifts clean, something they still need to work on, but Coach Sanda only says “Go on,” and unclamps Shiro’s hands from the rink barrier. Shiro gives Allura a wide-eyed, nervous glance, but she takes his hand confidently in hers and practically drags him to the center of the rink.

The announcer booms overhead, “From the United States of America, Allura Altea and Takashi Shirogane!” Reflexively, Allura tries to drop Shiro’s hand, but he holds on to it tightly. She looks over at him, surprised, but quickly adapts and uplifts their conjoined hands between them. He must be more nervous than he let on. “Both Allura and Shiro are sixteen,” the announcer continues. “This is their first season on the international junior circuit.” When they had first arrived in Budapest, they had been surprised at the age of the other competitors. Most of the girls were younger than their partners. A five-year age difference apparently wasn’t anything to blink at. Allura was old, for juniors. The two of them were old, for their first Junior Grand Prix. 

She reminds herself that they may be older than the other competitors, but they’re just as determined.

“We’re going to be fine,” she whispers as they get into their starting positions. “Come on, Shiro. Just like we practiced.”

Shiro nods once, tightly, and the music begins. 

Allura opens her arms, skates backwards, and follows the call of the music. Anticipating their international debut, Coach Sanda chose one of the Four Seasons movements for their short program. It’s “Summer”. Of course it’s “Summer”, as if multiple skaters don’t skate to the same concerto every year. Allura collects her annoyance for release at another time.

Shiro gathers her into his arms and launches her into the air in a double twist, but it’s not as clean as they can do it in practice. Seconds later, to her disappointment, she underrotates their side-by-side double axel. She reaches back out to Shiro and joins their hands together again, and then he slips his arm underneath her leg and lifts her up until he can shift his hand onto her stomach and she’s balancing on his palm. She dismounts from the lift and they skate a small circle before he places his hands on her hips and throws her into a triple salchow. 

Now it’s time for the choreographic sequence, which they can execute in their sleep. Coach Sanda has always said that their footwork is precise and beautiful, and in a routine where maybe one element has been beautiful so far, they need this. As the music shifts from one key to another, they transition into a death spiral. Allura grabs Shiro’s hand and lets him swirl her around the ice two and a half times, her hair brushing the ice, before he pulls her up to stand. The final element is a combination spin. Camel spin, catchfoot camel spin, a switch to the other leg for a sit spin with their right hands extended towards the floor, and the upright spin before the ending flourish. 

Their flourish coincides perfectly with the music being cut off. Allura relaxes and lunges forward to hug Shiro. “We did it,” she whispers in his ear. “Our first international performance.”

“We did it,” he echoes. 

The crowd isn’t very large, and the people are scattered across the stands. In fact, most of the crowd are skaters in other disciplines cheering on their own teammates. They receive sparse applause from the crowd at large, and loud, reassuring cheers from the American skaters competing in other disciplines. After they bow towards the judges, Allura intertwines her fingers with Shiro’s before they skate towards the edge of the ice.

Coaches Sanda and Iverson are waiting for them by the boards. Allura gets hugs, Shiro gets handshakes. Coach Sanda’s lips are pursed tightly, but Coach Iverson beams at them as they head over to the kiss and cry. They pass by a commentator, a Canadian man who smiles at them and says into his microphone, “For their first Junior Grand Prix, that’s a perfectly respectable performance.” Allura squishes onto the bench first, followed by Shiro, and then Sanda and Iverson each choose a side. Shiro’s hand finds hers again. She squeezes his. 

“The scores, please,” the announcer prompts. Shiro tightens his grip. 

“39.10. They are currently in fourth place.” Disappointment sweeps through her. It’s not a bad score, per se, but they’ve lost significant points on their grades of execution. There are so many places where they could have done better: lifts that could have gotten all four levels, jumps that could have been cleaner, twists that could have been more precise. The thing that nags at her is that they not only could have done better but  _ should _ have done better.

Allura’s attention is brought back to the rink when the next pair is announced. Including this performance, there are still three teams with significant previous experience and significantly higher personal bests to go, which means she and Shiro will probably sink to seventh place in the end. Which they do. 

They skate again two days later. They do much better this time, and some teams above them do much worse, but they only move up to fifth place. It’s frustrating, this sense that she’s given it all she can at this moment but that there’s still such a long way for her and Shiro to go. Her desire to be at the top pulls at her, stretches her focus away from what she’s done well and instead towards what she needs to change. Allura watches the top three pairs and envies their skills. Their lifts are more complicated, with higher base values, and their execution of them is cleaner. They’re doing harder jumps and throws. They receive level 4s on their pair spins. The only thing that she feels she can execute comparably to the top pairs is the choreographic sequence. She and Shiro have high quality footwork and transitions that are just as advanced as the top teams. 

“That was a great debut competition,” Coach Iverson tells them kindly as they leave the rink after the medal ceremony. He lets the two of them board the bus that will take them back to the hotel first, then allows Coach Sanda to board before him. Allura slides into a window seat, followed by Shiro. When their coaches sit down in the row behind them, she twists around to face them. 

“I want to do better,” Allura declares. When she looks at Shiro, he’s nodding along with her. “I want to do better too,” he says.

For the first time since they’ve arrived in Budapest, Coach Sanda smiles. “Keep up that attitude, and I’ll make you into the best pairs skaters on the junior circuit,” she promises.

Allura smiles, and determination races through her veins.

* * *

**Team USA Closes JGP Budapest with Five Medalists**

09/04/06 11:31:00 A.M.

First-time competitors  _ Allura Altea and Takashi Shirogane _ , both 16, finished in fifth place. The couple scored 39.10 in the short program, good enough for seventh place. In the free program they scored 76.50 points for 115.60 overall. 

* * *

**July 11, 2014. 10:40:16 P.M.**

As always, there is a varied collection of people in the hospital lobby. They’re mostly tired family and friends, waiting for good news that might or might not come. Allura has found it the same for years. There were tired people when her parents were in the hospital, and there are tired people now, when her closest friend is in the hospital. 

Allura storms up to the receptionist’s desk. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’s aware that she probably looks like a mess. When she got the call, she had been lounging on her couch, ready to go to bed. Afterwards she had run out of her apartment and had almost forgotten to lock the door. 

The receptionist looks up at her and does a double take. “Allura Altea?” she gasps. 

The thing about being a top figure skater in an Olympic year is that she’s very recognizable. Usually, that’s fine. Usually Allura would give her a benevolent smile and most likely an autograph, but tonight she nods briskly and says, “I need to see Takashi Shirogane. Which room is he in?”

The receptionist startles. Her demeanor turns both professional and sympathetic. “Oh, yes. Of course. Mr. Shirogane is in room 413.”

“Thank you,” Allura says, and rushes down the hallway. 

* * *

**Let’s meet: Allura Altea/Takashi Shirogane (USA)**

27 May 2009

Most skaters burst onto the international junior scene from thirteen through fifteen years old, but  Allura Altea and Takashi Shirogane of the United States competed at their first Junior Grand Prix competition at the ripe old age of 16. Now, two years later, they have soared to prominence and captured the World Junior Title this past March.

Only 18, Allura has the composure, serenity, and articulation of someone twice her age. She comes from a family of skaters: her father, Alfor Altea, was a five-time US champion and three-time world champion in men’s singles; his close friend and her former coach Coran Smythe also won American national championships in ice dance. An orphan after her parents’ untimely deaths from illness, the skater says that “I skate as a way to remember my father. I know he would be incredibly proud of me. I work as hard as I can every day so I can keep giving my best for him.”

For Takashi, who prefers the nickname “Shiro”, he knew their hard work would eventually pay off, if accompanied by something else. “Practice makes perfect,” he shared, “but patience yields focus.”

“That’s his signature line,” Allura laughed.

Three words Allura would use to describe her partner: confident, kind, patient

Three words Shiro would use to describe his partner: intelligent, brave, hardworking

* * *

**June 29, 2009. 3:09:14 P.M.**

The rink is full. It’s the middle of the day on a Saturday, and younger skaters are here to practice. Allura is here too, but she’s at the rink with a consistency that they are not and which some of them may never be. To be dedicated to this sport means to be willing to give up all your time to it. She understands this, and doesn’t resent it. 

Allura revels in the sharp sound of her blades cutting through the ice.  _ Kssh, kssh,  _ her blades hiss, filling her ears with familiar noise. The ice always makes her feel better at the end of a bad day, and it’s been the worst day. Coach Sanda had called her and Shiro into her office and sat them down. Getting called into her office was either a very, very good thing, or a very, very bad thing. When they sat down in the stiff chairs and she behind her desk, Allura realized that it was the latter. 

“Allura will be too old for juniors next season,” Coach Sanda had said briskly. “Shiro, you still have a few years left. I can pair you with a younger girl so you can continue on the junior circuit.”

Allura and Shiro were the same age, so she had known that this day was coming ever since they had first stepped onto international ice. In pairs, girls could only compete in the junior division until they were 19, but boys could be in juniors until 21. She would turn 19 this summer, making her ineligible. 

_ It’s been three good seasons _ , she had thought to herself miserably, clutching at the arms of her chair. After that first competition in Budapest, they had only gone up. Every season, they had improved and gotten better, and finally they had become the top junior pair that she had once envied. And now, once they had gotten to the pinnacle of juniors, Coach Sanda wanted Shiro to stay there at the expense of their partnership. 

Coach Sanda had looked at them expectantly after dropping her bombshell. Allura had sat there not knowing what to say. She was usually the one with graceful, diplomatic responses when their coach said something rattling, but nothing could find its way onto her tongue. Shiro had nodded a little meekly and mumbled, “I’ll think about it.” Allura’s not sure what she had wanted him to say or do, just that that wasn’t it.

What would she do? She skates around the gradual curve of the rink, glaring a hole into the ice. A girl about thirteen watches her with wide eyes as one of the assistant coaches tries to get her to practice her sit spin. Boys were in high demand for pairs, and Coach Sanda had the connections find Shiro another partner, so he wouldn’t have to worry. Allura would definitely have to worry. 

Allura huffs and digs her skate into the ice much more roughly than necessary. The movement sends a spray of ice chips behind her. She doesn’t want another partner. Whoever Coach Sanda might dig up for her won’t have competed with her for three seasons on the Junior Grand Prix. Won’t have risen through the ranks with her, given their blood and sweat and tears willingly to get there. Won’t have won Junior Worlds with her, won’t have that small golden medal the size of a dollar coin that is on display in her kitchen cabinet. 

“Hey, you got ice on me,” a voice says from behind her.

She whirls around. Shiro is smiling gently at her as he gestures down at the little pieces of ice on his black sweatpants. Behind him, a line of young kids gapes at the two of them. They’re supposed to be jumping.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, resuming her lap around the ice. Shiro falls in beside her. His strides matches perfectly with hers, even with his longer legs. They had developed this rhythm over years of practice, and now Coach Sanda wanted him to synchronize with someone else. She watches their legs move together with resentful satisfaction.

“I don’t want another partner,” Shiro says finally, after they’ve skated three laps in silence. The younger skaters in the middle of the ice have at last decided to practice instead of gaping at the two of them. In this public place, it’s a little bit of privacy.

“You don’t?” Allura asks, just to make sure. Relief washes over her.

Shiro stops skating abruptly. Allura is forced to dig her picks into the ice so that she is standing right in front of him instead of lengths away. More ice chips fly onto his pants, but he ignores them this time. He stares intently into her eyes. She’s drawn in by the intensity of his gaze, the steely and resolute gray that has watched her spin through the air for years and has always made sure that she comes down safely. Before he even opens his mouth she’s already half-convinced, not by any arguments he’s made, but by how much he wants her to believe his next words. “I don’t want to skate with anyone else,” he says. “We either do this together, or not at all.”

Despite the seriousness of his proclamation, Allura can’t help but smile so widely her cheeks hurt. She begins skating backwards away from him. “Jump a double axel with me?” she calls. She glances over her shoulder to make sure that she won’t crash into some hapless fourteen year old, but they’re concentrated in one side of the rink. She begins to skate as fast as she dares. 

The double axel, their reliable side-by-side jump. Allura never forgot that first underrotation three years ago, and she’s worked on it ever since. She knows the feeling of doing it as well as she knows the technicality of it. It’s the only jump where you take off facing forward; it almost feels like launching yourself headfirst a cliff. 

Shiro grins back and starts sprinting towards her. When he catches up, he slings his right arm over her shoulder, and they resume looping around the rink in sync with each other. 

Allura looks up at the ceiling of the rink, where their Junior Worlds banner hangs down from the rafters. 2011 JUNIOR WORLD CHAMPIONS, it says in large font across the top, with PAIRS SKATING in smaller font below. _Allura Altea & Takashi Shirogane_ is in the middle of the banner, with SOFIA, BULGARIA in the smallest font at the bottom. She turns her smile towards it. That, they accomplished together, and she knows they’ll accomplish more in the future together. 

They crossover a couple of times to gather speed and then reverse the direction of their bodies. Anticipation builds in Allura’s chest. She knows what comes next. She feels rather than sees her left skate tilt towards its outside edge, hears instead of seeing Shiro do the same. The cold air whips around her face as she completes two glorious rotations, and then she’s landing on the outside edge of her right skate, knee bent to take the impact. The smile on her face is still there. Beside her, Shiro is laughing. His left leg is extended behind him, his arms spread wide, and he looks glorious. By the way the children being herded off the ice look at her, she knows she must be as radiant as he is.

**July 11, 2014. 10:42:09 P.M.**

The hospital hallway seems to stretch on forever in front of her. Despite the late hour, it’s fully lit. The absolute whiteness of the artificial lighting and the walls gives off a forbidding atmosphere. The friendly light teal color of the floor tile doesn’t do much to ward it off. As she reaches the door, Allura forces herself to pause and take a deep breath. She needs to be Shiro’s rock, the way he’s always been hers.

She pushes open the door to reveal Shiro sitting up in bed. His father is standing by the nearer side of the bed, blocking her view of his diminutive mother, but she knows Mrs. Shirogane is there from the sound of their quiet conversation.

“Shiro?” she asks. “It’s me.”

His father turns toward her, opening up a space between himself and the bed. Shiro smiles wearily at her, and for a moment her heart soars with the realization that  _ he’s safe, he’s all right, he’s going to be fine _ . In the next moment she realizes that something is wrong with the entire picture, and searches for the reason why. Her gaze flicks down below his face and then she sees that his entire right arm is gone.

* * *

**January 29, 2012. 3:35:40 P.M.**

Allura extends one arm into the air, leaving her other hand in Shiro’s grasp, and the music ripples to a finish. She blinks up at the ceiling, struck by the silence in her ears, and then crowd roars back into her awareness. Behind her, she can feel Shiro pressing his forehead into the back of her hand. He stands up, wrapping her in a hug from behind, and they spin breathlessly in a circle before the announcer calls out their names. Allura drops to one knee and brings her left arm across her chest to her shoulder. People in the crowd are rising to their feet, giving them a standing ovation. Every time they turn to face another portion of the stands, the screams surge in volume. 

Coran stops them on their way to the kiss and cry, hanging over the edge of the boards, and embraces them both tightly. “Your father would be so proud of you,” he tells Allura, and the tears that well up in his eyes are mirrored by the ones in hers. This season, they had chosen their own music instead of having Coach Sanda choose. Allura had asked to skate to Ave Maria as a tribute to her father, and Shiro had agreed more easily than she had expected. It had been a beautiful vehicle for their rising success throughout the season. They had used it to scrape out a bronze medal at the Cup of China, surprising everyone including themselves, and now they had used it for a performance that might win them a national championship.

Allura settles herself eagerly into the kiss and cry bench and tucks her hand into the crook of Shiro’s arm. The usual replay of their technical elements is on the screen, and she watches it with anticipation instead of her usual self-criticism. 

“The scores for Allura Altea and Takashi Shirogane.” Coach Iverson sucks in a deep breath, but he sounds less nervous and more excited. “Their technical component score, 61.97.” Allura knows that’s lower than the pair who skated before them, but they can make it up with their PCS. Plus they have an advantage from their lead in the short program. “Their program components score, 62.18,” the announcer says. Shiro buries his face in his hands. That’s definitely higher than the previous pair, but is it enough? “Their segment score for the free skate is 124.15. Their total score is 188.45.” The next sentence almost gets buried by the deafening bellows of the crowd. “They are currently in first place.” The  _ currently _ is meaningless, because there’s only one team left to skate after them and they don’t have the technical base values to match her and Shiro. 

Allura feels so giddy that she barely processes leaving the kiss and cry for the green room. She might never come down from this cloud. They wait ten minutes for the last pair to perform, and when their opponents’ defeated faces appear on the screen with the number 4 next to their names, her cloud soars higher.

Allura throws her arms around Shiro’s neck and squeezes the life out of him, laughing joyously. Shiro’s arms are wrapped around her waist, and Coaches Sanda and Iverson turn it into a group hug at their sides. “We did it!” she laughs. “We did it, we did it, we did it!” Shiro is laughing too, from sheer disbelief and pure joy. Finally, she removes her arms from his neck and looks back up at the scoreboard to make sure it hasn’t changed. 

Sure enough, it still says  _ 1\. Allura ALTEA/Takashi SHIROGANE  _ across the top. They’ve just won their first national championship. 

An interviewer pushes her way into their corner, gently prompting their group of four to separate, and Coaches Sanda and Iverson leave the little space. Allura sits down next to Shiro, taking his left hand in both of hers. He wraps his right arm around her shoulders. 

The interviewer smiles at both of them before turning to the camera and launching into a spiel. “I’m here with Allura Altea and Takashi Shirogane, who have just won their first national championship. So how are you feeling right now?”

“Absolutely ecstatic,” Allura gushes. “We’ve been working towards this for years and we’ve finally made our dream come true.”

“It’s only your second senior season, and here you are with a national championship. What was the transition like from juniors to seniors?”

“Hard,” Shiro laughs, not letting on just how hard it was. There’s too much joy in their hearts right now to think too deeply about last season. Their first senior season, where they struggled more than either of them wants to admit. “Obviously when we first transitioned we had a lot of confidence from winning Junior Worlds, but the senior division is a totally different beast. I think that our fourth place at last year’s nationals says it all.” Allura remembers feeling tired and utterly defeated as the scores appeared on the screen, but with a vengeance tells herself that they’ve been redeemed. Shiro must be thinking along the same lines, because his next words mirror her thoughts exactly.“Our championship this year is really redeeming for us.”

Bii-Boh-Bi, who runs a popular figure skating Twitter, waves at them from over the interviewer’s shoulder. They wave back at him. He raises his phone camera as high as he can and snaps what is most likely a very blurry photo. “Can you describe what it was like to finish your free program and realize that the crowd was giving you a standing ovation?” 

“That’s the point of this sport, isn’t it?” Allura sends what she knows is a blinding smile towards the TV camera. “To make people feel, to show them the passion that we have and the hard work that we put in. I think they clearly felt what we were trying to express, and that’s everything we could want. The fans are absolutely amazing, and I want to thank them for their support. It means everything to us.”

“And of course this means that you two will represent the United States at this year’s world championships in Moscow.”  
Shiro doesn’t even need prompting to respond. If possible, his smile grows even wider, and he squashes Allura further into his side. She allows it to happen with grace and tries not to let her discomfort show. This interview will be on national TV. “We’re so excited for Moscow. It’s going to be our first Senior Worlds, and we’re absolutely honored to represent the United States.”

The interviewer smiles, nods, and turns back to the camera. “Okay. Congratulations. Back to you, Terry.” The camera spins away from them with the interviewer following close behind. Allura shares a smile with Shiro and hopes that Moscow will be nice in April. 

* * *

**July 11, 2014. 10:42:11 P.M.**

Allura walks up to Shiro’s bedside and wraps her arms around his neck. She feels his left arm come to rest on her back, and automatically squeezes tighter. After a moment, his head shifts so that it’s leaning on the side of hers. Her eyes have drifted closed, so she only realizes that his parents have left the room when the door swings shut. She turns her cheek into his so that her nose isn’t smashed directly against the pillow. 

Silence stretches long and thin between them. Allura can hear noise from people in the other rooms, the rattling of a wheelchair down the outside hallway; she can see the ambulance lights flickering between red and blue from the window. She breathes in the antiseptic scent of the hospital and focuses on the familiar solid planes of Shiro’s shoulders. He’s here, by her side, and that’s all that matters. The details are less relevant than the big picture.

Finally, he says, “I’m so sorry.”

* * *

**February 12, 2014. 08:24:45 P.M.**

“Go on,” Coach Sanda says, waving them away. Shiro’s hands squeeze the rink barrier one more time for luck, and then he catches Allura’s hand and they skate to the center of the ice. Allura checks the tightness of her boot’s laces and shakes her arms out to get rid of any remaining nerves before allowing her partner to grasp her wrists with his hands and meeting his eyes with a smile.

“Just like we practiced,” she says quietly. When he nods, she knows he understands, despite the noise around them.

The familiar sound of Swan Lake begins to ripple through the rink speakers, but they stay frozen in their positions before extending their arms. Allura lifts her right leg up, imitating a ballerina in a music box, and Shiro spins around her. They’ve done this so many times that the transition into crossovers seems absolutely natural. He places his hands on her hips; she extends her leg between his; and after three rotations in the air she lands the flip solidly. The crowd’s roar is loud in her ears. The next transition is longer before they launch into their side-by-side triple toe-double toe combination. Allura lands hers perfectly, but Shiro falls on the first jump and just skates out of her way as she jumps the 2T. The crowd still cheers. If there’s one thing she’s learned about the Olympics, it’s that the crowd cheers for everything.

They rejoin hands. Shiro gracefully extends his leg into the air, holding the top of his skate, and Allura lowers herself into a death spiral. When she returns to upright she sinks into another ballet-inspired position for yet another transition. Sometimes she thinks ruefully that the emptiness of their junior programs was easier, and then remembers that transitions are key to their success.

Camel spin. Sit spin. Upright spin with one leg fully extended. Another sit spin, this time with their heads upright instead of nudging their thighs. A bent-leg spin with their hands on the outside of their legs. Another upright spin with the leg bent instead of extended. End facing each other, and then a launch into their choreographic sequence. As always, it feels excellent, and she’s sure that it looks just as excellent to their viewers. Allura skips across the ice as lightly as a bird, trying to evoke a ballerina. 

The music begins to grow louder in a slow crescendo, and then Shiro is grasping her hips again and throwing her into the air. The resulting triple twist is leagues away in quality from the first one they ever did in international competition. When Shiro sets her back down on the ice she ducks underneath his arm. He pulls her so that she’s sitting on his leg very briefly before they spread eagle into side-by-side double axels. This time, they both land it. They skate away from each other, but when they reconnect he grins at her quickly as he places one hand on the small of her back and the other on her shoulder. His smile disappears from view as she is lifted upwards. Above his head, balancing only on his hands and then only one hand, she feels absolutely weightless. 

Gravity returns for a moment when she descends to the ice. She grabs his hips with her thighs and then ascends again in another lift. After they spin three times counterclockwise, she lets herself drop into his arms until her skate hits the ice. Then it’s the partner combination spin, where their faces are smashed into each other’s hips in four different ways. One more lift, with one exhilarating stride of Shiro’s where she is completely upside down with her legs in a vertical split. Sixteen-year-old Allura would have been terrified. Twenty-four-year-old Allura would smile if her face wasn’t balanced in the back of Shiro’s neck. 

They’re so close to the end. Shiro wraps his right arm around her waist and throws her into the air one last time. She falls on the triple axel, much to the crowd’s disappointment, not to mention her own. It had all been going so well.

She skates back into Shiro’s arms right as the music ends. They separate, Allura smiles ruefully to herself, and Shiro runs his hands over his face. That was their final performance at this Olympics, and they put it all out there. They always do. The crowd cheers wildly for them. Finally, they hug, then bow and skate to the boards. Allura receives her usual hugs. Shiro slumps over the boards with exhaustion, and Coach Iverson rubs his head and clasps his bicep affectionately. “That was wonderful,” Coach Iverson says. Coach Sanda smiles benevolently at them both.

The screen above the center of the rink replays their major elements as they tramp into the kiss and cry. Shiro grimaces at his mistake on the jump combination; Allura frowns as she watches herself butcher the throw triple axel. It’s a nerve-wracking three minutes.

After what seems like forever, the announcer requests, “The scores for Allura Altea and Takashi Shirogane of the United States of America, please.” The numbers flash on the screen. “They have scored 136.14 points in the free skating segment. Their total score is 215.78 points.”

“Is that enough?” Shiro asks nervously. His question prompts Allura to remember that the Chinese pair before them had scored better. She and Shiro are holding each others’ hands so tightly that their fingers are going white. The nervousness coursing through them both won’t allow them to let go. 

“They have placed 4th in the free skating segment.” Allura’s stomach sinks with disappointment. It wasn’t enough. They didn’t make the podium. Then the announcer continues. “Their overall placement brings them to 3rd place. These are the final placements.”

“Oh my  _ God _ ,” Allura says breathlessly. Shiro’s mouth drops open. Allura propels herself into his arms while laughing disbelievingly. Coach Iverson is screaming “That’s my team!” besides them while Coach Sanda claps without abandon. “You’re Olympic bronze medalists!” Coach Iverson yells. “You’ve won the bronze!” 

* * *

**Allura Altea and Takashi Shirogane Win First American Olympic Bronze In Decades**

Feb. 13, 2014, 1:05 P.M.

SOCHI, Russia - Before 2014, the last Americans to win an Olympic medal in pairs skating were Jill Watson and Peter Oppegard at the 1988 Calgary Olympics. Twenty-six years later, Allura Altea and Takashi Shirogane have brought the United States back into contention as a top pairs competitor with their bronze medal in Sochi.

This is their second bronze medal in this Olympics, having skated both segments in the team event last week. In the team event, they were a rock to rely on, pulling out solid performances that boosted Team USA to bronze.

Shirogane smiled widely as he was interviewed by waves of reporters. “We’ve gone farther and accomplished more than I could ever have dreamed,” he said. “If you had told five-year-old Shiro that he would one day be an Olympic medalist- no, if you had told fifteen-year-old Shiro that he would one day be an Olympic medalist- I don’t think he would have believed you.”  
“I’ve always had faith in us,” Altea refuted teasingly. 

Altea and Shirogane are known for their admirable work ethic, so when asked what their plans were for after the Olympics, it was no surprise when the former immediately answered, “We’re going to Worlds.” Meanwhile, the gold and silver medalists said they were taking a vacation when asked the same question. When Altea and Shirogane were pressed for what their plans were for after Worlds, Shirogane joked, “Well, there’s another Olympics in 2018. We’ve got to get ready for those.”

* * *

 

**July 11, 2014. 10:44:35 P.M.**

He’s beginning to tremble under her. Allura pulls back so she can see his face and demands, “What are you sorry for? You’re alive. You’re here.” There’s nothing else she would ask of him.

“I can’t skate anymore,” he says, his eyes growing watery, and Allura feels the relief drain from her. Tears begin to well up in her eyes too. Skating has been part of their life together for years. It brought them together and kept them together when most people would have drifted away from each other. 

“It’s okay,” she forces herself to say. It’s not okay, but she will make it okay. She’s always forced the situation to fit her hands, instead of the other way around. “We’ll be fine. We’ll make it through together.”

“You can find another partner,” he suggests, even though she can tell that it hurts him to make the suggestion. “You can keep skating.”

Horrified, she bursts out, “No!” 

Shiro jerks his head back into the pillow, staring at her in shock.

“No,” Allura repeats. She steels herself and pushes away her shock and frustration and loss. “I’m not leaving you for someone else.” She looks him dead on in the eyes to make sure that he understands what she’s going to say next. “We either do this together, or not at all.”

* * *

**June 25, 2014. 08:37:16 A.M.**

It’s a beautiful Monday morning. The sun is shining gently through the window, lighting up the ice in long streaks. The synchro team has just finished their practice and is exiting the rink in a neat single file line. Allura, Shiro, and Coach Sanda have the ice all to themselves for the next few hours.

Just for the fun of it, Allura launches herself into a triple flip before she skates over to the rink barrier where Shiro and Coach Sanda are already standing. The latter looks like she’s just sucked on a lemon, but considering that she and Shiro medaled at the Olympics four months ago and then won Worlds two months ago, she can’t say anything. Just last night their Worlds banner was hung from the ceiling to join their Junior Grand Prix, Junior Worlds, and US Nationals banners. Shiro had clasped her shoulder affectionately as the anthem had played, and afterwards they had signed stacks and stacks of autographs for the younger skaters who practiced at their rink. Just remembering it makes pride swell up in her chest. Coach Sanda also has a plaque with her name and the year she won an Olympic medal on it. It’s supposed to come back by the end of the week with Allura and Shiro’s names on it. 

All in all, Allura figures she can have some fun before she launches back into work. 

Coach Sanda levels her with an unimpressed look. Shiro says, “Let’s do an SBS triple flip in our next short program.”

“I like that idea,” Allura replies, smiling back. No one else on the circuit does a side-by-side triple flip in their programs. It will probably be hard, but there’s no way to improve without challenges.

“All right.” Coach Sanda reels the discussion in and hits a button on her music player. Turandot begins streaming out of the speakers, and Shiro groans outright. Allura has only slightly more tact: she prevents herself from groaning but not from sending her eyes skyward.

“I don’t want to skate to this,” Shiro protests.  _ Nessun dorma, nessun dorma, _ Andrea Bocelli sings. Allura slaps the pause button. She hates that song. Everyone skates to it. There was a Chinese pair who skated to it at the 2010 Olympics, and Allura is willing to put down money that another Chinese pair will skate to it at the 2018 Olympics. That, of course, completely ignores all the singles competitors who skate to it every single season without fail. Every. Single. Season. If Allura had a nickel for every time someone announced they were skating to Turandot, she could pave her driveway with nickels.

“It’s a very reliable musical piece,” Coach Sanda says, but plays the next track. It’s Phantom of the Opera. Allura doesn’t even realize that the moaning “Noooo” is coming from her until Shiro joins in.

Coach Sanda purses her lips and presses the skip button. Moonlight Sonata spills across the rink. Allura wants to tear out her ears. Moonlight Sonata is another warhorse, another song that makes her cry on the inside when someone uses it. She’s caught herself reflexively straightening up and looking for skaters when it starts playing in elevators. 

Shiro’s face is twisted into a frown that Allura knows is mirrored on her own face. At their expressions, their coach turns off the music, crosses her arms, and says, “I’m giving you two solid suggestions here. These are perfectly good songs for you to skate to.”

“Everyone’s skated to them,” Shiro points out. “We hear them every season.” Allura winces at the thought of skating to Turandot or Moonlight Sonata. When the familiar opening strains of those songs begin to play and their opponents start to skate along to them, Allura always looks up at Shiro. Shiro always looks down at her, and they share a look that, if Coach Sanda catches it, makes her hiss at them. “Can’t we do something different?”

Coach Sanda glares at them, very clearly annoyed with them. They’re putting up more resistance than she’s used to. All her skaters usually bow to her will after putting up a token resistance, but it’s not happening today. Allura doesn’t even mean to give her such a hard time, it’s just that she’s feeling particularly rambunctious right now. It must be the leftover adrenaline from the triple flip. “You two are World champions and Olympic medalists. You need to always be at the top of your game, and these are my suggestions to help you stay there.”

“Isn’t that reason for us to challenge ourselves?” Shiro asks. 

Allura jumps on his train of thought. “And beyond that, Coach, if we skate to something we actually enjoy, we’re more likely to do well. I’m all for classical music, but we should skate to something not everyone uses.” Ideas begin forming in her mind. Prokofiev, maybe, but it’s hard to find music of his that’s skatable. Shostakovich! She’s always wanted to skate to Shostakovich. Or, if Shiro wants to do something on the non-classical route, there are some beautiful movie soundtracks out there. Now that she thinks about it, she’s actually quite amenable to trying a pop song with lyrics. That would be different.

Coach Sanda narrows her eyes at them. Her posture reminds Allura of an immovable cliff standing against the force of the sea. But Shiro and Allura are no longer thirteen, sixteen, even twenty. They’ve grown from the low tide barely lapping against Coach Sanda’s immovable stone will to a high tide smashing against it over and over again, determined to get its way. The three of them stand awkwardly in a faceoff for several minutes until she sighs and concedes, “Fine. You can choose your own music this season.” 

Shiro fist pumps and Allura claps joyously. She and Shiro are the dream team. They’re going to pick their own music for the first time in forever, and because they’re doing it together, she knows that whatever they choose will be amazing. Three years ago, when they chose their own music, they won their first national championship. Now they have two more plus two Olympic medals. If- no, when- they choose their own music again, she knows that more good things will come. 

* * *

**July 11, 2014. 10:18:55 P.M.**

_ “Allura, Shiro’s been in an accident.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Ask me about figure skating, my plans for this series, or anything else at my writing tumblr crownedallura!


End file.
